I fell into the darkness, so darkness I became
by Haley Hanson
Summary: He'd lied to them, hurt them on a personal level. His actions had been unethical, incorrigible even. It didn't matter that he'd saved the world, their world. All that mattered was that they had a scapegoat on which to blame their pain. Nightwing could shoulder their resentment, swallow their distrust. And he'd do so with a smile. Or so they thought. /Post Invasion/
1. Prelude

**Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. -Friedrich Nietzsche**

* * *

I've walked in the shadow of the bat. I knew a darkness so fraught with agony and despair that I strived to be the light, a beacon of hope for you to follow. I thought I'd be the example, proof that one can rise above the hell in which we live.

I failed.

The shadows I so carefully treaded engulfed me. My body ached so terribly that I gave in to despair. The pedestal on which you placed me, on which I placed my self—it was a ledge of fatal height. I've fallen into the darkness, or rather I was pushed. By you, by me…it doesn't truly matter who had the final hand in it.

I'm not writing this letter to blame you, or to give reason for my actions. The time for explanation has long since passed. I'm writing this for closure, to beg the forgiveness I never received. So forgive me father for I have murdered, forgive me friends for I have lied. I'm sorry it ended this way, but I didn't have the strength to say goodbye. I doubt such a meek word would have meant much anyway.

Don't search for me –where I've gone you cannot follow.

-Dick Grayson.

* * *

**AN: This is going to be a series, the muse just wouldn't leave me alone. In later chapters there may or may not be subtle dabs of slash. Honestly I could care less if you approve of it or not, but sending me PM about how I'm going to hell for even mentioning the possibility of it...yea that's not ok guys. Anyway- I'll give you a couple of guiding points, that hopefully don't give away all that much. This story is set after "Invasion" and therefor is somewhat AU, cause you know "Invasion" isn't over yet even if we do have to wait till JANUARY! Certain ideas and characters will be pulled from various comics and arcs for later chapters. Most notably Dick Grayson is Nightwing no more, this will be explained around chapter 3 or so :) Till next time, much love -Haley.**


	2. Smoking Gun

**It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.―John Steinbeck**

* * *

|Apartment C12,** BLUDHAVEN**

|_July 4 –2019, 19:36 EST _

Once, twice, three times Wally's fist fell against the solid oak door. There was a hesitance in his posture, an unease that hadn't existed two years ago. It was strange how much had changed in such a short amount of time. Once he would have shown up to the shabby apartment of his own free will, maybe had a beer or two courtesy of its resident. Now though, his presence was one of a strictly professional nature—or about as close to professional as he was capable of being.

Nightwing had officially been taken off league rosters some time ago. His methods had proved increasing unstable and sacrificial; by general consensus the hero community had decided that one Batman was enough. After the catastrophe that had been the Invasion, Dick's termination was inevitable –so much so that he had the poise to submit a form of formal resignation from the team and all affiliates, even the Batfamily.

Nowadays he was classified as an independent hero, left to his own resources for anything short of another apocalypse. It was rare that anyone in the caped community got more than a passing glance of the once beloved blue bird. For most of them—Wally included, that was how they liked it. Some wounds were still raw, long developed trusts still broken.

Three weeks was a long time for a hero to stay off grid, even one as reclusive as Dick had grown to be. His absence hadn't gone completely unnoticed, but there wasn't enough concern to warrant any immediate action. It was only when the murder of Bludhaven cop and his family went unsolved that heads started to turn. There was speculation about injury, about retirement. But the few that knew Dick well, well enough to still harbor hurt—they knew that the only way to keep a Grayson from flying was by snapping their wings.

* * *

Three more times Wally's fist fell against the door, each with more annoyance than the one before it. Rattled from its home atop the door's lintel fell a dust covered key. Slowly Wally turned it between his fingers. Children of the Bat were supposed to be paranoid, outrageously so. The security of their homes and hideouts was supposed to be legendary. The reason the key existed at all, and in a place of easy access was because Dick wanted it as such.

Cautiously, Wally placed the key in the lock, tumblers clicking audibly into place.

If one set aside the layer of dust, the apartment appeared immaculate. It felt cold, like no one had truly lived in it for months. All the pictures Wally remembered were gone, leaving patches of sun bleached wallpaper clearly visible. As he stepped out of the entry way Wally noticed the stiffness of the carpet, if only because he knew that the daily tread costume grade boots trampled even the toughest fabric to a downy softness.

In the living room heavy velvet curtains were cast open, inviting the pale light of late evening into the otherwise empty room. There was no couch, no heavily battered coffee table, not even a lamp. Knots in the speedster's stomach made themselves known as he walked in through the eerie silence, eyes alert for even the slightest sign of life. There were none.

* * *

Edging into the kitchen, Wally stopped short. The trash can wasn't anywhere near full, only an empty hot chocolate packet and what appeared to be a wrapper for vending machine quality cookies residing within. In the sink was a single cup, washed and dried with a fine film of dust on it. The only other evidence of Dick's existence sat on the rickety dining table, the lone personal effect left in the whole apartment.

A cardboard box sat dead center. Inside Wally found the latest incarnation of the Nightwing suit, blood red and sans finger stripes. Below it was the first edition, tattered and blood soaked just as it had been the day they'd brought an end to the invasion. It was with shocking clarity that Wally recalled the battered image of the vigilante, blown half to hell and resented like the plague. Despite their victory that day, all he had seen in Dick's broken blue gaze was defeat.

Shuddering at the memory Wall repacked the folded suits, noting with a frown the escrima sticks and dominos tucked beside them. As he went to replace the top of the box he noticed the envelope and flash drive taped to it. Sleek and industrial grade the flash drive was simply labeled –work, its contents needing no further explanation. Really it was the envelope that intrigued Wally, as it wasn't addressed or sealed, freely accessible to any curious speedster.

* * *

_I've walked in the shadow of the bat. I knew a darkness so fraught with agony and despair that I strived to be the light, a beacon of hope for you to follow. I thought I'd be the example, proof that one can rise above the hell in which we live._

_I failed._

_The shadows I so carefully treaded engulfed me. My body ached so terribly that I gave in to despair. The pedestal on which you placed me, on which I placed my self—it was a ledge of fatal height. I've fallen into the darkness, or rather I was pushed. By you, by me…it doesn't truly matter who had the final hand in it._

_I'm not writing this letter to blame you, or to give reason for my actions. The time for explanation has long since passed. I'm writing this for closure, to beg the forgiveness I never received. So forgive me father for I have murdered, forgive me friends for I have lied. I'm sorry it ended this way, but I didn't have the strength to say goodbye. I doubt such a meek word would have meant much anyway._

_Don't search for me –where I've gone you cannot follow._

_-Dick Grayson._

* * *

Air evaporated, time slowed and for a moment Wally had the will to deny the obvious. Yet the signs were too clear to be continuously ignored. Dick had cleaned out his apartment so no one else would have to. He left behind only the damning evidence of his nocturnal career because he was sure that a cape or cowl would be the first to find it. The hot chocolate and cookies had been of nostalgic importance, probably the best bid for normalcy that he could scrape up—a last meal.

* * *

|Waterloo Docks, **BLUDHAVEN**

|_July 6 –2019, 22:04 EST_

Part of Wally knew, knew that Dick Grayson was dead. He hadn't needed a body or a smoking gun. So when the latter was found during the frantic two day search that ensued after his discovery of Dick's inferred suicide note—it did little more than cement the scenario that played out in his head.

Slowly with a measured hand Wally rolled the nine millimeter pistol in his palm. It was the one piece missing from Dick's police belt, the serial number matched—he'd double checked. And of the sixteen bullets capable of lying dormant in the gun, only fifteen were accounted for. Considering the patches of rust that had started to form, it was a safe bet that the gun had washed up a week or so ago –plenty of time for a body to be washed out to sea and devoured by any number of creatures.

The thought made Wally's stomach twist painfully. He turned back toward the group of leaguers scouring the sand with surprising vigor for at least another half mile. Four days ago Nightwing had been a unanimous point of animosity, a prime example of what betrayal looked like.

He lied to them, hurt them on a personal level. His actions had been unethical, incorrigible even. It didn't matter that he'd saved the world, their world. All that mattered was that they had a scapegoat on which to blame their pain. Nightwing could shoulder their resentment, swallow their distrust. And he'd do so with a smile. Or so they had thought.

With a short, high pitched whistle Wally brought their efforts to a halt. When gazes of every color pierced him for information all he could do was shake his head forlornly. Gasps echoed and heads were bowed. That night it didn't matter how much they cared, how much they grieved. It was too late, far too late.

* * *

**AN: Did I just kill Dick Grayson? No, no I didn't ;)**


	3. Slay Your Demons

|Pier 70, **SEATTLE **

|_November 5 –2023, 21:00 PST_

Snow fell gently, the pearly flakes disintegrating the moment they met the unforgiving maw of the sea. In, out—violent and strong the waves crashed against the pier, a frigid spray sharp with the tang of salt lashing at smooth alabaster skin. His face was familiar, glossy strands of ebony and eyes of twilight blue just begging to be remembered. Any remaining traces of adolescence had long ago vanished, replaced with a strong jawline and features so aesthetically sharp it was as if they had been carved. Dick Grayson looked damn good for a man who had supposedly been dead for four years. The haggardness that once clung to every fiber of his being had been replaced with a new found strength, an edge of power that only came at the price of blood.

* * *

Through the thin fabric of his sweater soaked the warmth of another's embrace. Arms, solid and strong locked around his middle as a chin scratchy with a hint of blonde stubble came to rest on his shoulder. From the corner of his eye Dick could just make out the edge of the scar peaking from behind the collar of his lover's shirt, the sight pulled violently at his heart strings as it always did. If that scar had spanned just a half inch more it would've hit Joe's jugular, would have torn away the best thing to come into his life since microwave dinners.

"You're thinking too much pretty boy." The gentle jibe brought a smile to Dick's lips as he relaxed into the other's hold. Joe had two inches on him and at least twenty more pounds, he could make Dick feel safe, a feeling he'd searched for high and low since his resignation from the hero business. There was shelter from the daily turmoil of life, solace from the breath snatching nightmares of the past; it was here that he belonged now.

* * *

When Dick made no other move a hand came to cup his cheek, turning his gaze to meet the concerned emerald depths of his partner's. "What is it?" Joe's voice was unexpectedly coarse, a result of that damn scar and a nicked vocal cord. There were days unlike today that he couldn't talk at all, moments so overwhelming it brought back the mute Joe had once been.

"I was just thinking about that job offer, the one in D.C."

Joe's eyes softened a fraction, his smile taking an almost wolf like air to it. "Infiltrating The Hall of Justice is a tall order, but your extensive knowledge on the subject could make it a clean mission. Maybe even casualty free." The blonde never made a promise he couldn't keep, Dick knew that the 'maybe' was tacked on for a reason. To take on The Hall of Justice was almost as suicidal as storming The Watch Tower, people would get hurt. A large part of him no longer balked at that fact. But these weren't just people; they were leaguers—most with enough years under their belt to remember the disgrace that had been Nightwing.

His hesitation was obvious and Joe wasn't the type to push him. "Grant and Rose can take this one on their own; our presence isn't one of life or death importance." Though he would deny it Dick had a brief flash of a certain speedster clutched in Grant's meaty fist or at the receiving end of Rose's sword, it really shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did and it certainly shouldn't have forced his hand…but it did.

* * *

"I think we should go." There wasn't much conviction to his words and Dick felt more than saw the way Joe's lips pressed into a thin line. "If you're trying to prove something to me, to any of us…you know you don't have to." Dick knew, in fact he feared he'd only prove that his new found family's unwavering trust was ill placed.

"I want to face my demons." Dick whispered and he felt his partner's grip tighten a bit in protective affection.

"You face them, I'll slay them."

_That's exactly what I'm afraid of._

* * *

**-Three years ago-**

* * *

|Barkers Alley, **SEATTLE**

|_December 24–2020, 21:48 PST_

Blood soaked through the already mud splattered snow, the gushing stab wound draining away his life for the twenty dollars cash in his pocket, the watch on his wrist, and the warmth of his jacket. Dick hadn't even fought back, figuring the crook would take his things and go. He never even saw the knife, not until he was struck in the side by the sharp burn of a blade tearing through flash. Batman would have had his head for such a lapse in awareness.

_Batman_—thoughts of the masked vigilante rarely passed through his mind nowadays and the flood of memories drew a painful chuckle from Dick's lips, a trickle of crimson escaping the corner of his mouth.

* * *

"Laughing in the face of death? You're an odd little bird aren't you—"

Hair as white as the snow in which he lay tossed lazily in the frigid breeze, piercing blue eyes focused with little interest on his still form. She was beautiful, the blonde men who stepped into his line of sight beside her even more so. One was burly where the other was lean, the first with eyes that matched the girl's while the latter's were a shade of emerald so heart wrenchingly familiar it ripped a startled whimper from his throat.

"Seems he doesn't like you much Jericho." As if intrigued by the prospect lean, and green eyed stepped forward. _Jericho_ she had called him. He sized him up eyes softening with something that Dick could have sworn was affection. The man went to unwrap his scarf, ignoring the grunt of disapproval that came from behind him. Burly and blue eyed made no move to intervene but in the moment that their gazes met Dick could feel the unease that radiated from him.

His attention was quickly redirected to the agony that ricocheted through his body, the coarse fabric of a thick woolen scarf applied with startling pressure to the gaping wound. His vision swam and a hiss of pain managed to escape his blue tinged lips. He tried to scramble away, unknowingly muttering that he 'wasn't worth the trouble.'

* * *

Thick arms stilled his movement, a distinctively feminine hand smoothing back his hair.

"If you're worth it to Jericho, you're worth it to us."

* * *

**AN: First and foremost thank you for all the lovely reviews, they do mean a lot. This chapter is set four years after chapter one, and finds Dickie bird in the arms of Joe Wilson AKA Jericho. He and the Wilson family will play a large part in this story, including a romantic aspect. If slash isn't your cup of tea this may not be the story for you seeing as Birdflash is inevitable, and well Dick and Joe are already together as seen above. I'm also sorry if Dick and/or Joe seemed somewhat OOC, the canon moments that involve these two are few and far between so there isn't much to go off of. Hehe hopefully this doesn't scare all you guys away, until next time, love always -Hale.  
**


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